I met John Martin at his home in Westport on an afternoon when the sun, gold and luminous, seemed made for stained glass. His brick heritage home, which he shares with his wife Krista, a novelist, is filled with art and sculpture from family and friends. I’m already inspired. Out back, he leads me to his studio, which he renovated himself. Two large workbenches anchor the space, along with a drafting table, a light table, and a tall light easel where, he says, he finds the best inspiration. This is Solar Temple Studio, a reminder of how remarkable talent often thrives in quiet, unexpected places.
John has just brought in a second glass kiln, still waiting to be installed, but I know this is a place of constant activity. Paintbrushes, powders, tools, and a wall of glass sheets and shards line the room. He pulls out a jagged blue glass panel and lifts it toward the window.
In that moment, his expression softens into something close to awe. He points out the colour deviations, nuances, and subtle movements within the glass with the wonder of someone who still can’t quite believe that such beauty exists. It’s clear this isn’t simply an art form for him, but a calling, a devotion to transforming fragments of coloured and painted glass into something that can stop you in your tracks, even bring tears to your eyes. It’s a lineage of creation that stretches back millennia, connecting him to the long, luminous tradition of stained glass artists who have always sought to capture light itself.
As he carefully returns the glass panel to the collection, I notice a stunning drawing of a pigeon missing a foot, with gears, text, and ancient stained-glass motifs tacked on the wall. This is the draft of the finished art piece now showing at Wink Glass Studio in Hamilton, Ontario, he explains. On the light easel, the outline of a new piece, Pandora, hangs in progress.
This is a place to behold, where beauty courts peril and light itself becomes the artist’s most dangerous, dazzling medium.
Kim Lulashnyk: John, you describe yourself as a classical stained glass artist, specifically, a glass painter. For those unfamiliar, what does that mean?
John Martin: When people hear “stained glass,” they often think of craft pieces like sun catchers, copper-foiled panels, or colourful window decorations. But what I do is traditional painted stained glass, a discipline that goes back centuries. I paint directly onto glass using finely ground pigments, things like bistre, silver stain, or grisaille, mixed with water, vinegar, or oils such as lavender or clove. The whole studio ends up smelling like Christmas.
The paint is fired in a kiln so it fuses permanently to the surface. You’re not just adding colour, you’re modulating light, creating line, tone, and texture. Even bad stained glass will hold your imagination because you’re looking through the image as much as at it. It’s an incredibly powerful medium.
You seem to have deep reverence for the traditional techniques. Where does that come from?
Part of it is the material itself. Some of the glass I use was made in France or Germany decades ago; you can’t just walk into a supply shop and find it anymore. Sometimes I’ll stumble on a box of old stock in a retiring artist’s studio or estate sale. Recently I bought a cache from an artist who was well-known in the ’70s and ’80s.
Modern glass cuts beautifully, but the old stuff, it just has more life. There’s a depth and irregularity that makes it sparkle differently in light.
Can you walk us through the process, from design to finished piece?
It starts with a full-size drawing called a cartoon — that’s the blueprint for everything. From that, I create a cutline pattern for the glass and a leadline pattern showing how the pieces will be joined.
Then comes the cutting, painting, and firing; sometimes a single piece might go through five or six firings. Flesh tones, drapery, background texture, each layer builds the image. Once everything’s fired, it’s assembled like a jigsaw puzzle, only instead of cardboard, you’re using malleable lead cane to frame each piece. You vary the widths of the lead to add rhythm and weight to the design.
Lead has a kind of gravitas. It’s the backbone of the window. There are safety considerations when working with it, of course, but once the panel’s finished and sealed, it’s completely stable.
How did you find your way into this world?
It was a winding road. I’d always drawn and painted; I even did tattooing in the early ’90s for a while. But I hit a point when I was about 30 years old where I thought, what am I really going to focus on?
One day, when I was working as a bike courier, I made a delivery to Old City Hall in Toronto, and there was this enormous stained glass window by McCausland Studio, a masterful piece. I looked up, and it was like getting struck by lightning. I know it sounds so cliche, but I knew instantly: This is it. This is the medium that brings everything together.
It combined drawing, painting, symbolism, narrative, all the things I loved, with light itself as part of the work. That was my epiphany moment.
Once you had that revelation, how did you actually learn the art?
That was the hard part. Back then, glass painting in Canada was a closed shop, people guarded their techniques like trade secrets. It took me a year and a half to find someone willing to teach me.
Eventually, I connected with a studio in Etobicoke called Fantasy in Glass. I took a beginner stained glass class, then studied painting with a few wonderful teachers, Lorena Diaz and Judi Waymark. Judi had actually been one of Canada’s first female tattoo artists back in the day. She saw my interest right away and took me under her wing.
From there, it was a long stretch of self-teaching and experimentation and then, in 2019, I began working with Mark Thompson, one of the top stained glass artists and conservators in Canada, on the Parliament restoration project. That was a huge education.
You’re also a teacher yourself now. What’s your approach to passing on these skills?
I’ve taught close to eighty students by now, everything from absolute beginners to emerging artists. I run classes in Hamilton and at Wink Studio, which is run by Jennifer Stearns, a real powerhouse in glass education.
When I’m teaching, it’s not about self-expression right away — it’s about materials. I provide the design so students can focus on technique: how to mix paint, how to fire it, how to control values. Once they understand the language of glass, they can speak it fluently in their own way.
And I keep classes small, three people max at my studio, six at Wink, because I remember how long it took me to find someone to teach me. I want to make sure nobody else has to wait that long. I love teaching and am always looking for new students here in Westport.
What do you hope people take away when they see your work?
I think most people have seen stained glass, but few understand how it works, how light passes through a painted surface and turns it into something living. For me, it’s about that alchemy, taking earth and metal and fire, and making light visible. It’s both technical and spiritual.
Even when I’m frustrated with a piece, or tearing it apart to fix something, I never stop being amazed that a handful of sand and minerals can hold a story in light.
Contact John at solartemplestudio@gmail.com.
